Royal Courting: The Kingâs Summon Â
Chapter OneÂ
In which Lucian, a humble baker, meets two very interesting customers who seem to be more than meets the eye.Â
Content/Warnings: Original characters, slow burn, Medieval/Fantasy, charmingly mundane slices of life stuff, just fluff and character set up in this chapter, but if you like MLM Poly relationships you should stick around!Â
You can find the masterlist for this series (among others) in my pinned post!Â
I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, USED COMMERCIALLY OR FED TO AN AI. IF YOU DO THIS I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND KILL YOU.
Lucian stretches out in his bed, groaning as his joints pop and his limbs wake up, readying themselves for the day. Begrudgingly he sits up, dirty blond hair tousled by his pillows in the night. He smooths it down as best he can with his fingers, but thereâs not much he can do without the unforgiving bristles of a brush.Â
With a yawn he throws his legs over the side of his bed and slides his feet into his tattered slippers. He cracks his back for good measure, sighing and blowing a curly lock of hair from between his eyes. As the outside world slowly leaks into his sleep-addled brain, he recognizes the familiar sound of the jays chirping endlessly outside his window; a sure sign that it is, in fact, time to get up.
When he pushes himself out of bed and parts the old curtains hiding his chambers from the rest of the world, the sun is eager to cover his freckled face in its warm light. He blinks a few times to adjust, the blinding brightness of the morning slowly melting into a pleasant glow.
His shapeless pajama gown flows about his round body as he trudges to the bathroom, another yawn crawling up his throat as he comes into view in the mirror. His hair is flicked up in every which way, hazel eyes tired but not unhappy as he walks up to the sink, pudgy tummy bumping against it when he leans over to splash a bit of water on his face.Â
He feels much more awake than before once heâs dried his rosy cheeks and rubbed his eyes. He plucks his hairbrush from its holder and runs it briefly under the faucet before running it through his fawn tresses, only until the thatch of curls becomes presentable enough. No oneâs going to be looking that hard, anyways.Â
The hairbrush clatters back into its holder and the toothbrush comes out instead. It too is run briefly under the water before being put to work, another step in the morning routine Lucian often finds himself repeating ad infinitum. Minutes later heâs back in his bedroom, rummaging through drawers for something that resembles a put together outfit. It doesnât have to be perfect when itâs going to be covered with an apron all day.Â
He decides on brown trousers that are loose around the bottom and a comfortable, worn tunic that wonât get in the way with its flowing sleeves or make his binding garment too obvious. He slips his feet from his house slippers and instead into his trusted woolen-soled shoes, long since shaped to the arch of his  feet after so many years.Â
He pauses to glance in the mirror, turning halfway just to make sure nothing has an obvious rip or tear in it. He adjusts his pants and the bottom of his shirt around the chub of his belly before ultimately deciding itâll do.Â
He turns back to grab his mossy green, woolen sweater from the chair he draped it over the night before. The edges are fraying again, he notices, heâll have to fix that when he has the time. He doesnât mind it so much now, though, as his arms fit comfortably into the warm sleeves of the garment, thumbs skillfully avoiding getting caught on any of its unnoticed holes or the hasty stitching of its owner from decades prior. Lucian does take note, though, that the split in one side pocket is growing. Heâll have to fix that later, too.
When Lucian pushes open the door connecting his home with his bakery, the comforting, lingering smell of strawberry and buttercream greets him with vigor. It seems to permeate everything in his bakery, though he certainly doesnât mind. This early the only ones out on the streets are stray dogs retreating to their hiding spots and children headed to the school building up the road.Â
He pulls the door open and props it with the stop, then flips the sign set up in the window:Â
Hensleyâs is Open! Come on in!Â
âWeâre open, everyone!â Lucian calls, not to anyone in particular.Â
The first preparations of the day are always the easiest.Â
First, he pulls his trusty apron from its rack and ties it behind his back, double knotting it just to make sure itâll hold. Then he pulls the still-good loaves and pastries from yesterday that werenât sold from their covered baskets, arranging them in his display in the particular way he canât explain but canât do without. When heâs satisfied with the results he moves on, giving a quick glance to the door before turning to his oven.Â
He grips the fire striker with less confidence than he should, his other hand tossing a few logs into the oven before grabbing his flint. As he strikes the stone and the spark sets the wood alight he resist the urge to scramble backwards despite the familiar heat on his knuckles. His back aches as he rises to his full height once more, setting the flint and striker back on their shelf.Â
He turns his attention to the plants in his windows next. He fills the can with the spout around the side of the bakery (itâs too bulky to fit into the little sink at his station, after all), dropping a bit of water on the wildflowers that bloom outside the building on his way back inside.Â
Slowly, the watering canâs spout moves over each pot, moved by a practiced hand that has done this countless mornings before. Only when the soil is thoroughly wet does he move on, cycling through one by one until all of his green children have had their fill and the can can be tucked neatly back into place in the cabinet.
Lucian pauses as he takes a look around his bakery. He stops and leans against the counter, taking a moment to admire the scene.Â
The morning sun comes in rays through the windows, sunning his plants and warming the wood floors. The spring breeze meanders through the open door and just barely rustles his hair about his round cheeks. The distant sound of horseshoes on the path and the other businesses opening their doors signals the awakening of a bustling town. TheâÂ
âMr. Hensley! Mr. Hensley!âÂ
Lucian turns quickly to the sound of clattering and a call of his name outside his bakery, followed shortly by a bleat of surprise. He has only a moment to process before his first arrival in standing in the doorway, his dark hair bouncing in sweet curls around his flushed face and little tail flicking quickly to and fro as he recovers from his crash, bike now laying against the side of the building.Â
âOh, Callum,â Lucian sighs, rushing to the boy to brush the dirt from his sleeves, âYou have to be careful! Your mother spent a lot of money on this uniform, thereâs no telling how much that school will make her pay for anotherâŠâ
The young faun only blinks up at him with wide blue eyes. He shakes some leaves from his unkempt hair and the fur of his ears before holding out the hot mug heâs brought with him, wrapped in a cloth to keep it from burning his hands.
âHere, Mr. Hensley. Your coffee.âÂ
Lucianâs eyes soften as he takes the mug, removing the covering from the top and watching the steam rise.Â
âThank you, Callum.âÂ
The mug is set aside to cool for now, and Lucian quickly returns his attention to the faun boy whoâs just collided with his bakery.Â
âYouâre not hurt, are you?â He asks, plucking a stubborn twig from Callumâs nest of hair and rubbing over a scratch on the fresh nubs of his horns.Â
âNo, Iâm okay,â Callum replies quickly, brushing off his uniform jacket, âJust in a rush. I woke up late, thatâs all. I grabbed my books and I was out the door, I didnât even have to eat breakfastâŠâÂ
ââŠIs that why youâve left home without shoes?âÂ
Callum pauses and looks down, groaning at the sight of his bare hooves on the wood floors.
âAw, man! Iâm gonna get an earful from the headmasterâŠâÂ
Lucian feels a bit bad for giggling at the boyâs plight, but he canât help it. He misses when his problems were that simple.Â
âYou donât have to bring me coffee every day, you know. I appreciate it, but Iâll survive without it,â Lucian assures him.
âYeah, I know,â Callum replies with a shrug, absentmindedly toying with the leaves of one of Lucianâs plants, âBut Ma says itâs a nice thing to do, especially since you donât have magic.â
âOh, wellââ
âShe says that making coffee ânâ stuff without magic takes a lot of time that you donât have, since you have to work so hard and stuff. Is that true?â
âEr, y-yes, butââÂ
âShe wonders how you do anything without magic, yanno. She says itâs really impressive that this place has stayed open so long when youââÂ
âCallum! I meanâŠI understand, Callum. Thank you. HereâŠâ
Lucian takes a loaf of bread from his display, handing it to the boy with haste.Â
âCanât have you going on an empty stomach. Run along, and quickly, youâre already running late.âÂ
Callum takes the bread without hesitation, immediately digging in and thanking Lucian through a mouthful of it. In an instant heâs out the door and back on his bike, disappearing down the path. Lucian watches him go only until heâs sure he wonât crash once more.Â
Lucian sighs as the ache in his back starts to return. The day waits for no one, though, and heâs got work to do.Â
Throughout the day people pass through his bakery with leisure. Most are familiar, others are new but not unusual. The town of Lydell is a small one, after all. Not rich, but not too poor either, with a good part of its inhabitants planning bigger and better things for themselves and their families beyond the town limits. Every now and then he toys with that idea, that maybe one day heâll pack himself up and move into one of the big, bustling cities he reads out in the books, with magic pouring from every brick in every wall on every streetâŠÂ
âŠFoolish imaginings, thatâs all. Heâs got far too much to do here.
He watches from behind his counter as the sun lazily rolls into place in the center of the sky. The cool breeze of the March morning melts into something warmer, though not suffocatingly hot. Every now and then Lucian must wipe the sweat from his brow after standing in front of his oven for too long, but âtis the price one pays for a fresh batch of strawberry turnovers.Â
Lucian looks up from the hot tray now cooling on the counter at the sound of a crackly meow.Â
There, in his doorway, a slim figure of a cat with milky white fur splotched with inky stains of black around the feet and tail. It rubs up against the door, mewing softly just to make sure its presence is known. It sits with a regal confidence, not at all perturbed by the people who pass through the door beside it.
âWell, look who decided to stop in today,â Lucian says with a chuckle. The cat meows in reply before lazily sauntering over to the counter.Â
âGive me just a moment, my dear. When Iâve gotten these customers taken care of Iâll get you your treat.â
The cat seems to understand. This is an exchange they have quite often, after all. With no collar to speak of and an insatiable desire to wander, the little animal is nearly an enigma to Lucian, but heâll never complain about the company. For now he has to turn his attention to the lanky elf that is patiently awaiting his turn to speak.Â
By now Lucian can navigate customer interactions with little to no friction. No, he does not have those in a different flavor. Yes, he can make them in a different flavor, but they wouldnât be ready until tomorrow. Yes, he can go ahead and get some bagged up anyways. No, he does not offer a discount. No, he really doesnât offer a discount.Â
âThank you, come again!â
Lucian sighs as the elf takes his leave, seemingly satisfied enough with the small bag of raspberry shortbread cookies.Â
He turns to look down at the little cat still waiting patiently by his feet. It blinks slowly, then meows. Lucian laughs and mimics the sound.Â
He then turns his attention to the cabinet beneath his sink. Thatâs where he keeps the little bowl and bag of dry food his feline companion loves so much. The cat meows excitedly, and Lucian can see it resisting the urge to hop up on the counter as he dumps the food into the bowl.
âHere, youâve waited very patiently,â Lucian says as he sets the bowl on the floor, pushing it to the side where he can keep an eye on the cat without it being in his way when he walks around or behind the counter.Â
He looks back up and out the open door, only to squint in confusion as he tries to make sense of what heâs seeing.Â
It looks like two horses and their riders coming down the path, which wouldnât be so odd if it werenât for what Lucian could swear was the royal crest embroidered onto their side bags. The riders themselves are clad in varying degrees of armor, the metal clinking slowly getting louder as they approach the bakery.Â
Royal guards? Here? In a little town like Lydell?Â
Lucian quirks a brow as he watches them approach. Heâs expecting them to simply pass byâthey probably have important business to attend to, after allâbut then one of them pauses. He pulls on the reigns of his horse, whistling and calling to his partner with words Lucian canât make out from where heâs standing.Â
Itâs clear now that they wonât simply be passing by. Before Lucian even realizes theyâve stopped their horses outside of the bakery, and now theyâre hopping down from their saddles.
Now that theyâre closer, Lucian can get a better look at them. Theyâre definitely guards, thatâs for sure, and much taller and stronger than any human Lucian has met here in Lydell.Â
The first one is the shorter of the two, about 5â9, if Lucian were to guess. His skin is tan, a natural copper tone, and his curly hair is dark and thick, shaved underneath and left long on top. Heâs smirking for some reason, the expression pressing dimples into his warm cheeks, though something about him makes it seem like he doesnât need a reason. His eyes are sharp and foxy, the kind that notice little details about everything and everyone and leave others to feel uncomfortably analyzed. His armor is minimal, only a leather chest piece and gloves, and a few daggers are sheathed in his belt. He moves with a lithe swiftness as though heâs unaware of his own weight, hitting the ground without a momentâs stumble as he dismounts from his horse.
The second man isnât nearly as graceful, but certainly isnât to be taken lightly. Heâs a hulking beast, 6â0 at least, perhaps 6â1, in a full suit of metal armor, save for the missing helmet. Heâs paler than death, with long, golden blond hair thatâs been lazily thrown back into a low, loose ponytail, leaving a few strands to dangle around his face. His long lashes are the same light color, hovering over icy blue eyes that give way to no emotion. Lucian can only see half his expression, as the bottom part of his face is covered with a dark neck gaiter. He comes down off his horse with a thud and a bit of metallic clinking, giving the animal a gentle pat. With a quick flick of his wrist and a skillful bit of magic he fastens the horsesâ reigns to the post without touching them, and shortly after follows his companion inside.
âWoah, it smells amazing in here!â The shorter one exclaims, the pale one giving a nod of agreement in response, âI told you stopping was a good idea, Iâ Oh, look! They have strawberry turnovers!âÂ
Lucian has to bite back a chuckle as he rushes up to the counter like an excitable child, fumbling around in his pockets for money.Â
âTwo silvers each,â Lucian replies, âHow many? And will you be staying, or should I get you a bag?âÂ
âSix please, three for each of us, and, ehâŠweâll stay!â The man replies, shrugging at his partner, âWe could use the rest. Weâre headed back to Bascilium from Nora.âÂ
âNora? Gods above, thatâs far up north, what could possibly be so urgent the king felt the need to send his guards?â Lucian asked, not looking away from the two men as he moved to slip a few turnovers from their tray onto plates.Â
âOh, you know, just a little farm workerâs uprising. Apparently people donât like having their gifts of agricultural magic exploited to feed corporate bigwigs. Funny how that works!â
Lucian forces a laugh, although heâs not sure whatâs funny. The taller one still hasnât said a word, instead occupying himself by looking around the bakery.Â
âSo, I take it you got it figured out, then?â Lucian asks, handing the plates over.Â
âMhm!â The man replies with a grin, eagerly taking the plates and handing one to his colleague, âWell, as figured out as it can be for now. Things like this happen a lot in Nora with all the industrialization. King Ambrose is working on sending a few delegates down there to smooth out some of the systems. You know thereâsââ
The man is swiftly cut off by an elbow to the ribs from his partner. He turns to question what the could have possibly been for, but the taller one gives only a one handed gesture in response. Sign language of some kind, if Lucian were to guess. Whatever he said, it puts the first man at ease.
âAh, yeah, Iâm rambling. Sorry about that, mister, uhâŠâ He pauses, squinting to read Lucianâs name tag. ââŠLucian. Hey, I like that name. Iâm Tobias, Tobias Silva, and the guy I rode in with is Rex Theroux. I take it youâre the âHensleyâ that runs this place?â
âYessir,â Lucian replies with a suddenly confident grin, âLucian Hensley, thatâs me. Forgive me for bragging, but this little place is my pride and joy.âÂ
âWell then Iâm glad we stopped in! Feels like this trip has us running all over Divestia.â
This earns a snort from Rex, and a few more signs that have an air of sass to them.Â
âWell, okay, yeah,â Tobias concedes, âIt was my idea to take the scenic route through here, but it worked out well enough, didnât it? You could never find good food this cheap in Bascilium. Oh, shit, I almost forgotâ!â
He quickly dips his free hand into his pocket, pulling out a small pouch and setting it on the counter. He pulls out twelve silver coins and hands them to Lucian, who gladly accepts them and tucks them away into his drawer.Â
âThank you very much, Mr. Silva.âÂ
âJust Tobias is fine, donât worry about it. We donât really do formalities.â
âOh, alright then. Thank you, Tobias. Enjoy your turnovers.â
Tobias gives a quick nod before gesturing for Rex to follow him to one of the little tables pushed up against the large windows of the bakery. Lucian finds himself smiling at the talkative young man and his silent, looming shadow; a charming pair, those two are. Perhaps thatâs why Lucian finds himself glancing over at them as they eat despite his occupation with his work. Tobiasâs chatter never ceases except for when heâs chewing, but at the same time his attention doesnât waver from his silent partner when he signs a response. Tobias gestures widely as he speaks, threatening to knock over a plant or two when he gets particularly excited, whereas Rex keeps his movements sharp and controlled, a skilled hand showing his familiarity with the silent language he utilizes. The pair seem to get along with no issue despite the way their natures juxtapose one another, but then again, perhaps thatâs what makes them so compatible.
Tobias and Rex sit and shoot the breeze for about an hour, maybe, having finished their turnovers halfway through but not realizing, or at least not caring. The sun has just barely rolled towards the west end of the sky, shadows now slanting under the light. The foot traffic around the bakery has slowed a bit, so Lucian has taken to wiping down his counter and empty tables. That is, until he looks up at the sound of his name.Â
âHey, Lucian?â Tobias calls with a wave of his hand, âCan you come here for a sec?âÂ
Lucian collects his rag and approaches the table Tobias and Rex have made themselves comfortable at, giving them a polite smile.Â
âYes? Is something the matter?âÂ
âOh no, not at all,â Tobias is quick to reply, âRex just wants to know about your plants, what kinda magic youâre using to keep âem looking this green.âÂ
Lucianâs eyes turn to Rex, and heâs almost surprised to see his neck gaiter pushed down under his chin. Heâs not sure why heâs surprised; how else was he supposed to eat? Or, perhaps, heâs simply surprised that his face is so unremarkable. Handsome, yes, but no scars or deformities, although Lucian doesnât know why he expected there to be any. Maybe thatâs simply the assumption one makes when another has their face covered for without obvious reason.Â
Wait, what was the question? Oh, right, the plants.Â
âI donât use any magic, actually,â Lucian explains, suddenly feeling sheepish, âI, umâŠdonât have any.â
âWait, what?â Tobias says, a bit louder than he meant to (a lot louder, actually; the sudden exclamation makes Rex wince a bit), âYou run this whole damn place without magic? Wow, I mean, donât get me wrong, thatâs really impressive! I just canât believe someone like you wouldâ Ow!â
Heâs promptly cut off once more with a smack on the arm and a sharp look from Rex. Tobias swipes his arm away and puts his hands up defensively.
âWhat? What Iâd say? I didnât deserve it that time!â
Lucian laughs softly behind his hand, unable to ignore Tobiasâs natural dramatics.Â
âItâs alright,â He assures the two, âI get that sort of thing a lot. I admit, it is rather impressive, though I donât like to gloat. As far as the plants go, itâs just a matter of keeping them watered and not letting the soil go dry.â
Rex considers his words, nodding and doing a brief gesture that almost resembles a salute.Â
âOh, he says thank you,â Tobias clarifies.Â
âItâs no problem,â Lucian says, returning the courteous nod, âCan I take those plates from you?âÂ
âHuh? Oh! Yes, please, weâve really got to get goingâŠthanks again, those were amazing. Weâll definitely be stopping by again.â
âWell, Iâm very happy to hear that,â Lucian replied, unable to stop himself from grinning as his heart swelled with pride. Heâd just bagged himself two more returning customers, and royal guards no less! Perhaps theyâll spread the word of this little place. Wishful thinking, maybe, but maybe not.Â
Rex and Tobias gather themselves and rise from their table as Lucian drops the plates into the sink. He returns a brief wave as they both walk out the door, Rex giving another salute before turning away; one last thank you, Lucian assumes.
He watches as the pair mount their horses once again, settling upon their saddles before heading off down the path.
âInteresting pair of characters, those two are,â Lucian mumbles to himself as he turns back to his work. The little cat, which has now moved to basking on the window sill, meows in what Lucian chooses to interpret as agreement.
The pair of guards arrive back to the castle at nightfall, the last few rays of sun allowing them to walk their horses back to the stables before they head in for the night.Â
First thingâs first: The king expects a full report.Â
Tobias doesnât bother knocking, entering King Ambroseâs office with an incredible amount of casualness. He strides in with Rex, who at least has the decency to close the door back, following close behind him, as usual. Ambrose looks up from the papers he was studying, hard expression instantly melting  away into a familiar smile.Â
âMy boys,â Ambrose purrs, standing up from his chair and walking around the front of his desk, âYouâve finally returned.âÂ
The guards nod in unison, and Tobias canât stop himself from taking a moment to study his beautiful king. Ambrose is quite the stunning man after all; his skin is dark, as are his eyes, and his ebony hair is done up in locs so impossibly long they nearly brush the floor when he walks, decorated with gold cuffs and never less than perfectly maintained. His slim figure is draped in gold and white, as usual, for even a kingâs most casual outfit is extravagant. Heâs set his crown aside for now, as he usually does when working, but he has yet to remove the rest of his jewelry, as evidenced by the gold sparking on his wrists, fingers, ears and neck.Â
âSo? How did it go? I assume well, seeing as you arenât quite as disheveled as Iâd expect from a failed attempt at quelling riots,â Ambrose teases as he hops up onto his desk, crossing his legs and making himself comfortable.
âIt went very well, sir,â Tobias answers with a grin, âThings have been set straight, and a temporary peace agreement was reached to keep the people satisfied until your delegates arrive.âÂ
âVery good, both of you,â Ambrose praises. Tobiasâs grin only widens, and Rex signs a humble thank you.Â
âOh, and,â Tobias eagerly adds, âOn the way back we stopped in at this little bakery in Lydell, andââ
âLydell?â Ambrose interrupts, âThatâs quite a ways off the path back from Nora. What were you two doing there? Is that what took you so long?â
Heâs trying to feign seriousness, but the playful quirk of his brow and hint of a chuckle in his voice gives away his humor.Â
âMm, maybe,â Tobias says with a sly shrug, âBut it was worth it. They had the best strawberry turnovers.âÂ
âAlthough T was far more interested in the man behind the counter,â Rex signs, eyeing his colleague with a lighthearted sort of suspicion.
âI was not,â Tobias quickly protests, âAnd just how do you figure that, hm?â
âYou kept glancing over at him while you ate. I donât think you realized you were doing it, but it was obvious to me. Maybe he liked it, though. He kept looking at us, too.âÂ
Tobias huffs, crossing his arms and cursing his inability to pull an argument from thin air like usual. His cheeks are getting warm.Â
Ambrose laughs, hopping down from his desk and giving Tobias a reassuring pat on the arm.Â
âSo, he was a cutie, huh?â Ambrose chortles, âWhat was he like?â
âHonestly, cute is an understatement,â Tobias replies, âHe was this short, chubby little thing who looked like heâd just rolled out of bed. He was nice, too, and I know he has to be nice to us because, you know, weâre customers, but still. And, I mean, how can you not be interested in someone who makes such heavenly strawberry turnovers?âÂ
âIf theyâre that good, I shall have to try them some time. See what all the fuss is about. Maybe Iâll have a chance to meet this little baker crush of yours as well.âÂ
âOh, come onâŠ!âÂ
Ambrose laughs again, unable to stop himself. For a moment Tobias swears he can even see a smile make Rexâs eyes crinkle at the edges despite being hidden by his neck gaiter.Â
âWell, either way,â Ambrose coos, reaching up to gently cup his guardsâ chins in his hands, âYouâve both done very well. Come here.âÂ
Tobias rolls his eyes, but nevertheless they both lean in, allowing their king to give them each a brief kiss on the cheek.Â
âGood boys. Go on now, you need your rest after such a long trip,â Ambrose says with a wave of his hand before returning to his seat at his desk.
His guards bow briefly, all three of them exchanging well wishes and good nights before the door is shut again, leaving Ambrose alone in his study.Â
âCute little baker indeed,â The king mumbles with a laugh, âIâm sure theyâll be going back thereâŠif Tobias has anything to say about it, at leastâŠâ
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